Fits and Spasms
by LadyRavena
Summary: On no fewer than 4 occasions I told the Emperor that I would not waste his troops and ships attacking an enemy which I was not yet prepared to defeat...he called me a traitor & gave my attack forces to someone else -The story behind the line. Thrawn,Parck
1. Chapter 1

**Fits and Spasms**

**By LadyRavena**

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_AN: Thank you to my new friend, __Aleine Skyfire__ for the encouragement on completing this story. Go read her Thrawn work, it is really good, and should be finished soon. _

_Thanks to Curious_Kitty who kept poking me for hints and tips, and really helped out on this first chapter by letting me rant about it long-distance. Yes, I changed that one line, and it works much better. (Tea's on me next time) No, this will be the only time that Thrawn will be lit up like a Christmas tree. The Emperor figured out Thrawn after this. He's a Sith Lord, they must have some intelligence._

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_On no fewer than four occasions I told the Emperor that I would not waste his troops and ships attacking an enemy which I was not yet prepared to defeat. The first time I refused he called me a traitor and gave my attack forces someone else. After its destruction, he knew better than to ignore my recommendations. _

_~ Grand Admiral Thrawn~_

**Chapter One: I Say So, So It Will Be So**

"No."

The Emperor was completely still as the word hung in the air between the Vice-Admiral who stood four steps lower and the Supreme Ruler of the known galaxy, standing by the viewport behind the regal throne. Black robes fell to the floor, with hood concealing all but the barest crescent of paste-white skin; he reminded one of an archetypal bringer of death and pestilence. "What do you mean, 'no,' Vice-Admiral Thrawn?"

"The word, I believe, is self-explanatory, your Majesty," Thrawn said calmly, still standing at ease. The Chiss was as opposite as one could get to the Emperor, with his pale blue skin and blue-black hair, and crisp uniform of olive green. He stood with the practice ease of one with several decades of service in two separate Fleets, with his customary look of blasé interest. "I will not take an unprepared battle fleet against forces that will defeat them. Particularly not when another two weeks of preparations will allow said group to vanquish their foe with relative ease and minimal loss of personnel."

The Emperor drew himself up, hardly leaning on the cane that was his constant aid. "You've had this fleet in preparations for nearly a week, Vice-Admiral. It is ready now, and will defeat this little band of rebels," he spat, temper rising to the fore.

Thrawn drew in a deep breath. _Yet again_, he thought to himself, _I had hoped this human would be different than my own people's leaders…._ "With all respect to your Majesty, I have examined the reports of the enemy from the various Intelligence operatives, along with several other sources, and have determined that a confrontation at this time will not go in our favour."

"Imperial Intelligence assures me that the time to strike is now, Vice-Admiral. Have you been, perhaps, gifted with a vision of these events that differs from their analysis?" the Sith Lord said softly, voice as deadly as deep snow over thin lake ice.

Thrawn raised an eyebrow, knowing full well the fragile terrain upon which he trod. "I use simple reasoning, my lord, from the facts in front of me. Any admiral worthy of the rank would be able, after doing the equivalent research, to tell you the same thing." _Not that they would dare, but I will not waste my men's lives needlessly._ "I claim no soothsaying ability, only intellect and the will to use it, in combination with the training of an Imperial officer." Belatedly, he wondered if that could be construed as an insult.

The Emperor turned fully from the view of the Imperial capital and walked closer to his only alien admiral, an officer whom he had considered raising to the white of Grand Admiral in the years to come. This was a being that had, with little prompting on Doriana's part, destroyed _Outbound Flight_ with little more than a picket ship and a few little fighters. He expected this alien to show the same abilities in his service to the Empire, and bring these small, insignificant brush fires under control with ease, but now… now, however, this stark mutiny of the blue skinned freak was all that he could see. _The treachery and the gall to question one such as the Emperor!_

"How dare you," he hissed. "After all that I have done for you! Rescued you from that inhospitable prison of a planet, allowed you into the splendour that is the civilized galaxy, allowed you to serve in the glory that is the Imperial Navy, and now you would throw that back at your Emperor? Claim superiority over the ruler of the Galactic Empire?"

Thrawn remained calm, supressing one fleeting thought of, '_Are we done our little tantrum?_' before replying, voice as even as it was at the start of this discussion. "Your Majesty, no disrespect was intended. However, you yourself welcomed me into the Fleet, making specific mention of my tactical abilities in your decision to allow me to serve. It would seem wasteful if I did not use those same abilities in all aspects of this war."

The Emperor was not mollified; Thrawn could see it in the human's quivering body language, and feel it in the crackling air around him. The Emperor, in fact, looked furiously angry. "This Fleet has the power to crush this insignificant little revolt and you will see it done!" he spat. "That is my order, _alien_, as your Emperor!"

"No," Thrawn repeated firmly. "Your Majesty, respectfully, you do not have the power to make this Fleet succeed-"

"I HAVE UNLIMITED POWER!" the Emperor shrieked suddenly, cutting Thrawn off.

An arch of blue white lightening shot from the Emperor's upraised hand, crackling through the space between them and hitting Thrawn mid-chest. He gasped as the current fed through his body, dropping him to his knees in shock. Clenching his jaw, he felt his muscles trying to spasm and seize, but he fought it, only dropping his hands to the floor after the first seconds to keep from collapsing completely to the ground. As abruptly as it had begun, the Emperor released him, and looked down at the kneeling Chiss officer below him.

"You will take your Fleet, Thrawn, and you will defeat this enemy," he said softly, voice as calm as if addressing a child.

Thrawn had to wait a moment several heartbeats before replying, waiting for the tiny arcs of electricity to stop dancing up his outstretched arms. He'd fully expected a Force choke, not this caged electrical storm, and it was taking him longer than he believed prudent to recover. Drawing in a shaky breath, he leaned back on his knees, and looked up at the Emperor's gloating face. "Your Majesty, this changes nothing," he rasped, voice hoarse. "The fleet will be destroyed if it engages at this time! The delay would only-"

The second bolt of energy caught him high on the chest and dropped him to the throne room floor, unable to resist the convulsions of his muscles, only able to keep his jaw clenched tight against the scream that wanted to escape. It seemed to last infinitely longer, before the Emperor felt that the point had been made, and lifted the energy off of the Chiss officer's twitching body. Vaguely, Thrawn felt the floor shake slightly as two stormtroopers came to attention several feet away.

"Take this traitor out of my sight! I would question him later, to find what else he has hidden from us."

A dual chorus of "Yes, my lord!" greeted the Emperor. Thrawn tried to find his feet after they hauled him upright, but they marched too fast for him to do anything other than allow them to drag his twitching carcass into a turbolift.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Wow! It seems that a great deal of people are interested in this little story. So, thank you to the 55 visitors in three days! (dances)

Thank you to **sexyninjalady, **for your enthusiasm. Here is the next chapter for you.

**Chisscientist, **I always look forward to your reviews. Yes, he is pretty hard to read for a Force-user, especially as Thrawn would be thinking in his own language as well. Thrawn being hard to read was several someone else's plot idea, but for the life of me I can't find which story the idea first appeared in.

**Serenity8118**, always a pleasure to hear from you! The Emperor, having ego? what is this thing you speak o... sorry, can't type that with a straight face.

**frodogenic**, I am sorry that this next chapter will not be showing the Sith lord and the word wrong. However, when Three is posted, well, have fun. :)

**Sithy**, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I must say, I adore your screen name. Very cute. Thank you for the review!

And thank you and hugs to those that have put this story on their alerts/favorites: **breakerofstorms, KirstyQue, Blitzflint, & frodogenic.**

Last but not least, a heartfelt thank you to Artistically Done for including this story in their C2 archive. All fellow Thrawn lovers, go to their site and read the beautiful collection.

Artistically Done: Grand Admiral Thrawn Fanfiction  
URL:this site .com /c2/26040/3/0/1/

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**Chapter 2: Electrical Musings**

He could vaguely recall licking an electrical outlet when he was a very small child. The outlet had apparently been more fascinating than the four dozen toys, educational and otherwise, that were always underfoot. He also knew that the outlet wouldn't yell at him for touching it, like his brother had been doing, especially for touching his datapad. Thrass had plugged it into the wall outlet, saying something about it needing juice. The idea really intrigued the young Chiss; how could juice come from the wall? So, after waiting for Thrass to leave the room, he gathered all the concentration that a three year old Chiss could muster, pulled the datapad's plug out, and poked the outlet hard with a finger, and when nothing had happened, had decided to taste it, licking it once.

He wasn't sure, now, whether his parents had rushed him to the local emergency medical center because of the electrical shock that he must have gotten, or for the large lump on the back of his head from where he'd whacked it against the wall jerking away from the current. Probably the later, Thrawn mused, as he remembered chewing through a power cord later on that year and not going to the healers for that. Although both times his hair had stood straight up, something Thrass had found pretty interesting. It was one of the few times he'd shown his little brother off to his friends.

Curled half on his side on the prison cell bunk, Thrawn absently noticed that some of the hair on his hand was still sticking straight up. _I wonder if Thrass would be as thrilled if he could see me now?_

After the guards had dragged him from the throne room, Thrawn remembered gaining his feet long enough to walk the rest of the way to the private holding cells deep in the palace. Only as they were nearing the cellblock did one of the prison guards use the butt of his rifle to hit him between the shoulder blades, dropping him to the floor with a muffled gasp. The stormtroopers had been quick to drag him the rest of the way into one cell and literally toss him into the wall before sealing him inside.

He'd waited nearly ten minutes for them to come back; Thrawn had no illusions that, as a disgraced officer and an alien, he'd be left alone without at least one dominance establishing roughing up. _ We're better than you, scum,_ was a common enough theme in most prison systems. He'd attended several of his CEDF's court dates with the tell-tale swelling of black eyes and split lips. Better to play the game of willing submission, especially when all that would be harmed was his pride. Yet, after that one blow, there was nothing: no sonic pressure, no alternating lights, high power solar lights of any kind, or adjustment in the room temperature.

Save for one small meal what felt like two or three days ago and a bit of water now and again, never at regular intervals, it would see that they had forgotten about him. _Or, _his cynical side said softly, _they are waiting for final permission to skin you alive and pull supposed Rebel ties out of you. Torture on a healthy victim lasts much, much longer. _

Of course, one could argue that 'healthy' was a vast overstatement. He'd tried to walk from wall to wall several times, as a limbering exercise and to relieve the boredom, only to have his muscles refuse to take his weight, crumbling to the deck each time he took more than a step or two. The first few times he'd tried to move had been met with him nearly blacking out, and double vision beyond anything he'd ever experienced, with phantom pain arching down his shaking limbs. Even simple stretches while on his narrow bunk produced painful spasms in his muscles. All in all, he'd been forced to stay on that bunk, curled on his side, for the majority of his stay, with only his mind free to roam as it would between long periods of restless sleep.

He'd spent several hours on mental planning of the fleet's action and requirements once he was freed from this prison cell. Unless the Emperor used a completely different Fleet, his carefully honed battle group would either need to be replaced entirely, in which case this little revolt would be destroyed in, ideally, a month's time, or seriously reconfigured with replacement ships, which would, in his own estimation, take slightly less than three weeks to coordinate, train, prepare, supply and actually attack and destroy this little rebellion. Depending as well, he reasoned deep into his musings, if Voss was still at liberty to be his captain of his flagship, and could bring together the multiple captains under one command quickly enough. In all theory, he mused, the system should allow for a Fleet Captain to command up to five ships with little in the way of insubordination from the captains of individual ships. However, in his experience, a Vice-Admiral was almost always needed to keep the backbiting and questioning of authority and orders to a minimum.

After that had run its course, he had switched to fond memories of previous missions and had started to drift asleep to Thrass's voice in his mind, muttering something about what he should do versus what needed to be done. He drowsily wondered which side of this argument Thrass would have been on, until the lightning temper tantrum, of course. He couldn't even imagine Thrass's rant on the immorality of electrocuting your officers into submission, like some arena beast.

Although, Thrawn mused just as sleep claimed him, Thrass would have been honour bound to point out that even that didn't work to curb his behaviour.


	3. Chapter 3

_An: Thank you again to all of those who reviewed Chapter 2! _

_**ImperialWarlord**, nice to have you back. **sexyninjalady, **__good to still have you with us._

_**Frodogenic**: Thrawn never thinks in these situations that he won't be able to do something. It simply isn't in his nature. Otherwise, he would never have survived that planet he was dropped on. Thrass unfortunately isn't my character, he's Zahn's. _

_Well, Thrawn is not out of the woods yet..._

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**Chapter 3: Wandering Officers**

"Tell me you've found him," Captain Voss Parck announced to the room as he strode in. Military etiquette forbid his raising his voice, but it nevertheless carried across the small room as well as if it had been a Bantha market on Tatooine. The sudden silence, where a moment before there had been the quiet tick of keys, the low murmur of voices conferring data, was telling.

"Sir," one young ensign said, standing at attention beside one station. "We've found the security footage of the Vice-Admiral entering the Palace itself."

"That's excellent, Ensign. You've managed to confirm something we already knew from two other sources. What I need is to find out where he is now!"

"Captain," the station operator said, raising her eyes to look at his face. "There is no record of the Vice-Admiral leaving the premises from any of the official exits. We've run both computer and visual inspection teams over all the footage from the last 42 hours. There is no one matching his description, bio-signature or species, even."

Parck nodded slowly. "So, you are saying that Thrawn has been with the Emperor for almost 2 standard days now? What are they doing, then, planning the entire Rebellion campaign down to the last droid?"

"Sir?" she said, looking up at her superior officer. The Ensign gave a long-suffering sigh, nodded, and walked away. At Voss's confused look, she explained. "I'm not really supposed to know how to do this, but…"

"Ah. Creative searching, are we?"

"Something like that, sir. You see, I thought that if he hadn't left the building, then it should be possible to see where after the throne room he went. We know that he actually did meet with the Emperor at the correct time, so it was simple enough to monitor all the security cams on the turbolifts that exit that level." She typed in a few key strokes and an unfamiliar program popped to life on the screen. "It seemed that there was a blip in the system, sir, and a good half hour was erased. So, I expanded the search parameters to include anything in the hour after that blip."

"Wait, how did you manage that? You're talking about hundreds of cameras and weeks' worth of combined footage, if you had to search it all by visual inspection," Parck countered.

"That's where this program comes in, sir. If you input a certain number of statistics on a being, and several high resolution holograms of them, you can actually search using that as your key terms and have a pretty high level of success."

Parck shook his head, leaning over her shoulder to look closer at the screen. "We don't have a program that will… wait just a moment, I've heard of that company – That is a Rebellion program."

"You need to pretend that you don't see that logo, sir. Besides, its freeware if you know where to look."

"In Rebel intelligence systems?"

She smirked outright. "They need better security on their backdoor entrances. The program found him twice, Captain."

Parck promptly forgot everything to do with hacking and illegal copies of files. "Show me."

Instantly, one holographic video was playing on the screen. In it, two stormtroopers held the Vice-Admiral tightly, and were dragging the alien Admiral from the throne room into a turbolift. The second, equally short, was of presumably the same troopers escorting him out of another turbolift into a prison area.

"The holos were from the private detention area of the Imperial Palace," she said quietly. "I can try to get into that system, but you'll need to give me a lot of time, and I can't guarantee I will even be able to access that system."

"No," Parck answered after a moment's thought. "No, you've done enough. Can you set an alert the moment they take him out of there or there is another crash of the system?"

"Easily, sir."

"Thank you, Crewman …"

"Crewman Divins, sir."

"Crewman Divins. See to it that I am alerted the moment the Vice-Admiral's status changes."

Parck strode from the room, deep in thought. There was nothing he could do, he knew, to get the Chiss officer out of the personal cellblock of the Emperor. Hopefully, whatever the Vice Admiral had done to get himself thrown in, it wasn't something that would have his head handed back to him on a platter.


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: Thank you so very much for the reviews, folks! Always nice to know that there are people yes, _serenity8118, _I couldn't get that image out, either, which was one of the pokes to get this story written._

_Here, again, we catch up to Thrawn. I let him sleep in a while, so that's why you've not seen him since Chap.2 :)_

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**Chapter 4: What we have here is a Failure to Communicate**

Two stormtroopers held his arms tightly. The stormtrooper in front of him held his DC rifle at the ready, and no doubt so did his rear escort. He felt the barrel prod him forward every few feet, even when he was managing to keep up. With his hands cuffed behind him, Thrawn felt the four guard escort was ridiculous overkill, especially for a prisoner who had had trouble getting to his feet after several days of imprisonment, with little food or water. His legs steadied the longer he was forced to be on them, but the troopers had already had to bear his weight once when a particularly hard jerk of the turbolift almost sent him to the floor.

The lift door opened and his left and right guards tightened their holds on his arms, pulling him forward only after the front guard checked for any would-be targets. None presented themselves, judging by the distinct lack of blaster fire.

They were in one of the comm rooms deep in the Palace. Thrawn didn't recognize the pattern of décor in the room. Each level of the Imperial Palace had its own unique design and theme, down to the carpet used on the floors; Thrawn didn't recognize any of the key features. It struck him as old, and from a less military time, with the swirls on the walls that spoke of Nubian art forms. Perhaps the room was pre-Empire, which, after taking a brief glance around the room, would explain the clash of modern equipment with some truly antiquated relay stations.

The main holo-projector was empty of movement, but lit. The blue glow from the holo was the only source of light; the better, Thrawn supposed, to pick up details from a distant and unstable holo transmissions. _Dramatic overkill, _a cynical voice muttered in his head, which, while he agreed with it, he nevertheless ignored the sentiment. As they walked closer, Thrawn could see a uniformed officer standing at attention in the holo field, his face frozen in mid-word.

"Leave us," the shadow settled on the only visible chair instructed, voice cold.

With field precision, the four guards turned and marched out of the room, leaving the exhausted Chiss with the shadow in the chair.

"I gave your fleet to Vice-Admiral Barclin."

Thrawn forbade comment, but raised an eyebrow slightly, ever polite.

"He assured me," the shadow continued, voice flat, "that this minor rebellion on this insignificant planet would be crushed in less than six standard hours, with minimal damage and loss of Imperial man power."

Thrawn said nothing, continuing to stand at ease, hands manacled at his back. His face gave away none of his feelings, or the fact that in his tiredness he was having difficulty focusing his vision on the Emperor's pale face, or his opinion of the Vice-Admiral, either personally or his professional optimism.

Suddenly the hologram began to move. The male in the holofield wasn't Barclin; if his tired memory served, the man was the third officer of Barclin's choice captain, Dixney.

"—_ur Majesty, I regret to inform you of the loss of Vice-Admiral Barclin's command ship, the _Errantry_, with all hands. The secondary command ship, _Thunderous_, was also destroyed in the battle, with a seventy-eight percent casualty rate. The _Lacerator_ sustained the least damage, at less than forty percent. I estimate a return to the fleet in twelve stand-_" With a click the holopad turned itself off.

The air itself was crackling with the Emperor's fury, no less than when he had first viewed the transmission in real time. The anger wasn't completely directed at the Chiss prisoner; a good deal of it still was, only now it was mixed with disdain for the incompetence of the late Vice-Admiral. Idly Thrawn wondered if that officer still breathed, but he highly doubted it. Messengers had a habit of not breathing that long in either Sith Lords' presence.

"They failed," the shadow hissed.

Thrawn stayed still, hardly blinking as he locked gazes with the Emperor, forcing his eyes to focus for the moment.

"It was almost," the Emperor continued, "as if they knew he was coming."

Thrawn remained completely still, but he could feel his expression hardening just the slightest.

"Your officers are loyal to you, alien. Almost too loyal. Would they betray the Empire for their former commander, I wonder?"

"My men are loyal to their oaths, to the Fleet and to the Empire, your Majesty," the Chiss exile said slowly, enunciating each word with deliberate care. "They will follow orders, even those that are not well planned, without question." _Strictly true_, he thought. _No other commander encourages his officers to think for themselves, or voice an opinion. Too many rule like Lord Vader, albeit with less fatalities. He has a singular talent, thankfully._

"Then perhaps it is you who is the traitor! They knew, alien! They knew their opponent's strength, formations, critical information. You must have passed on that data!"

Thrawn waited, eyebrow raised slightly, for one deep, steady breath for anymore accusations. When none were forthcoming, he said coldly, "My oath was to the Empire. I vowed to serve in your Fleet, and take the orders given to me by my superior officers. I would never betray my oath to give a group of self-proclaimed criminals information that would lead to the deaths of loyal Imperial officers and crew."

One pale skeletal hand thrust out from the robes that had hidden it. "You were exiled because of a broken oath! You -"

"I was exiled," Thrawn broke in, voice as cold as Csilla's surface, "because I protected my people from external threats."

"By breaking your sworn oaths!"

"By being thorough and willing to employ whatever it took to see my oaths fulfilled." How had Thrass described it? Or had it been Car'das that said he had _excesses of zeal and ability_? "Those in the admiralty did not agree with me in what constituted a threat to my people."

The Emperor locked gazes with the Chiss admiral, face hidden for the most part in the deep shadows of his hood. "You knew that he would fail, didn't you?" he said, voice suddenly calm and still.

"I told your Majesty that when we last met," Thrawn said warily, eyes losing focus once more, despite his efforts.

"You foresaw it?"

_Dangerous ground_, a voice whispered in his mind. Thrawn said carefully, "I foresee nothing, your Majesty. Only through logical analysis did I determine that the chances of successfully completing this mission was slim."

"Every report received by Imperial Intelligence spoke of their unprepared state. Vice-Admiral Barclin was fully convinced it would be a simple rout!" The temper was oozing back into the Sith Lord's voice.

_Obviously he was wrong, wasn't he?_ a snide voice muttered in Thrawn's head. "I had studied the leaders of this group extensively, and concluded that when they appear at their most chaotic, it is, in fact, when they are at their peak of effectiveness and morale. However, there is a clear lunar-inspired pattern to the activity levels of the main part of his fighting forces." He drew in a deep breath, tried not to sway on his feet, and continued. "It is – had been," he corrected smoothly, "my plan to attack and destroy the group while their lethargy is at its deepest."

The Emperor said nothing at this. Despite the admittedly low voltage of the alien's punishment, the Emperor was impressed that the Vice-Admiral was able to hold a coherent conversation, let alone stand under his own power. There had been Jedi the Sith Lord had questioned at the beginning of the Purge that had been unable stand up after he was done with them. And yet, there was no Force-sensitivity to the alien. Intriguing, as so much wasn't now.

It was several minutes until the supreme ruler of the known galaxy said anything at all. Thrawn waited, still standing at ease within the binders around his wrists. Keeping still was taking a great deal of concentration. He'd given up on keeping the Emperor in focus. The double vision he had been experiencing was, no doubt, from lack of restful sleep and enough food. There hadn't been nearly enough water, either, to keep him hydrated. At least now he was able to stand on his own. A day or two ago and he hadn't even been able to do that much. What little sleep that he'd been able to snatch had helped heal of the effects of the lightning, he believed. Now, all he believed he needed was to avoid anymore bolts of lightning and restore his energy levels with sustenance.

There was a click, and a rattle behind him of metal on carpet; the cuffs had release his wrists and dropped themselves to the floor. Giving his wrists one cursory rub to help restore circulation, Thrawn waited for the next pronouncement.

"You will be given another chance to prove your loyalty to the Empire, Vice-Admiral," the Emperor proclaimed. "You will take command of the 18th Fleet and destroy this rebellion with two weeks. Succeed and you will have proven yourself a loyal officer of my Fleet. Failure will not be tolerated, alien," he snarled at the last.

"Your Majesty," Thrawn said, bowing. Turning slowly, he made his way smoothly out of the room to the turbolift, which opened immediately for him. He waited until the car's door had closed completely, sealing him away from prying eyes before leaning on the wall for support. First and foremost, he would make finding a decent meal and a large stim caf his first goal once back on his own ship.

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Captain Voss Parck's comlink chirped, jerking his thoughts from the unofficial report on his datapad. The news of the Fleet's near disaster dealing with this little group of self-proclaimed rebels was spreading faster than a bad batch of conduit worms, as depressing news often did. Three ships, two of which command ships, taken out in less than ten minutes, with nearly all hands still aboard, it made him wonder what the idiot Barclin was thinking when he landed in-system.

"Captain, we have movement on the target," Crewman Divins' voice said over the link.

Instantly alert, Voss nodded. "Where?"

"He's being escorted by four guards to a comm-room in the lower East Wing's eighth floor," she replied promptly. "I have a visual security black out in that entire section, but it doesn't extend into the lift itself; odds are that he's meeting with the Emperor, sir."

"Excellent work," Parck said, smiling. "One more piece of data – where does that turbolift first let out if you were leaving the room?" She gave him the room and floor numbers, which he was quick to write down on the pad. "Monitor the car. I want to know the instant he gets back in there. I will be at that door, so when he's in that car, page me so I can catch him."

"Yes, sir."

Tucking the pad under one arm, Voss quickly strode through the corridors, barely noticing anyone in his haste. Just now was not the time to get drawn into an argument on policy and Fleet movements, especially not when that meeting could take hours or minutes.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: The 18__th__ Fleet is my invention, just for the little poke. If there is another fleet with that designation, well, it isn't supposed to be them. I figure as Fleets were assigned, re-assigned, destroyed and rebuilt, there must have been the reject pile of ships that no one really wanted on their roster, and there were a couple of duplicate Star Destroyers, so why not Fleets?_

_Chissscientist: The Emperor doesn't really care that Thrawn has told him that it won't happen. The general idea is that 'I am Emperor, I spared your blue hide, you will do this'. Also, there was a small typo in one chapter. It was supposed to say, "within two weeks", not "with two weeks" so I will be going back and fixing that little error. I hope that Voss, in about three lines, will be able to clear up the time line order for you. If not, let me know, and I can always reload if it isn't clear enough. I have a rough timeline in front of me while typing, and forget that I don't post them in the story. :D_

_Thanks to _V0id Drag0n, dark kronus, Schehezerade, and Twin Tails Speed _for the favorites and alerts. It is much appreciated! And _Aryna _I hope this meets with your approval for continuing._

_One chapter left!  
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**Chapter 5: Dinner Consultations **

The lift slowed to a halt nearly instantly after starting to move. Stifling a non-military but heartfelt groan at whomever was about to board, Thrawn pulled himself up to a shadow of military precision and cleared his expression just as the doors parted.

Captain Parck stood, with datapad tucked up under one arm, just outside the door, smiling slightly. Stepping into the lift, he pressed the shuttle bay floor button and gave Thrawn a once over. "You look terrible, you know," he said with a straight face. "For someone who managed to get away from it all for over a standard week, you are not the picture of rest and relaxation that one would expect."

Thrawn shook his head, bemused at the presence of the one officer (and admittedly, friendly face) he needed to see right away. "Shouldn't you be on the _Vengeance, _overseeing supplies and whatever else it is that you do to avoid meetings in the palace?" he asked.

Parck smiled and keyed in a few items on the pad. "No, I finished all of that hours ago. A little avian whispered to me that you might be looking for a ride back to our ship."

Thrawn raised a tired eyebrow. "Indeed; I would also be needing assistance in bringing our new Fleet into line."

"Oh?" Parck said, his interest piqued. "Which Fleet, dare I ask?"

"The 18th."

Parck winced. "Wonderful, the misfit Fleet." At Thrawn's puzzled look, Parck explained. "The 18th is the one Fleet that is always made up of remains of defeated Fleets that are missing key components, like command ships or fully stocked TIE complements."

"Ah, how appropriate, then." Thrawn shook his head, amazed at the subtlety and the obviousness of the Emperor's reasoning. The lift doors opened on the shuttle bays. They stepped out, Thrawn looking carefully for anyone close enough to overhear, then said quietly, "I have been given a second chance at defeating that little rebellion that Barclin so utterly failed at."

Parck nodded once more. "I see. How long is his Majesty giving us?"

"Two weeks, less a day to prepare."

Parck winced, and stepped up his pace, Thrawn following suit after a moment's hesitation.

* * *

The day had been long enough before the Emperor had seen fit to drag him into that little used comm room. Now, nearly a full shift later, Thrawn was seriously considering finishing this preparation work in the morning, perhaps even late morning, and taking a much needed lie-in. Duty, however, nagged at his tired mind until, at nearly midnight, he called a halt to the evening's work and insisted on sitting down for a decent dinner, which Voss readily agreed. While there may not be a 'night' per se on a Star Destroyer, still the crew needed one shift that was considered a 'graveyard' shift.

Tonight, finally, Thrawn understood down to his bones what that meant.

The dinner, light enough that his stomach didn't protest to the sudden filling, was nearly over when the inevitable page came through for him. Putting down the forkful of lightly frosted Felbar cake, Thrawn turned sharply in his seat and rose to his feet in the same motion – then had to grip the table's edge as the officer's dining room swirled once on its axis. Blinking twice, he managed to straighten before, he believed, Voss noticed anything amiss. Reaching the intercom, he keyed in his security code.

"Vice-Admiral Thrawn here," he said crisply.

"Vice-Admiral, Communications. We've just received confirmation on the scheduling of all restocking and supply shipments to the Fleet, and clearance from the space yards for departure on your preferred deployment time. We are still awaiting the last confirmations and shipments of the replacement TIE fighters and two shuttles," the voice reported.

"Excellent. Inform me when those come through. Thrawn out."

Once settled back at the table, he was lifting his wine glass when Voss looked up from his dessert. "Didn't get a lot of sleep as his Majesty's guest, did you?" he asked, running an appraising eye over his superior officer.

Thrawn took a long sip from the dessert wine before replying. So he had noticed the stumble after all. Shaking his head slightly, a faint smile just flirting around his mouth, he said, "No. The palace detention levels do not lend themselves to sleep or relaxation. I wouldn't recommend it for shore leave."

Parck smirked and slid a datapad over to him. "No, I doubt anyone would. That's the final specs for the shuttle you requested. _Tanglebox_ will be ready in 32 hours, 30 if you lean on the chief engineer a little."

Thrawn absently reached for the datapad. His fingers closed on empty air two inches away from the pad, paused in midair, before finally managing to grasp the object and lift it off the table. "He always pads his estimations, at least by an hour or two. We won't need it for several days, so he'll have the time to pick at it and perfect it."

"The guards didn't mess you around much, did they?" Parck asked, frowning slightly, fingers idly playing with his napkin.

"No, they remained quite cordial, for prison guards," Thrawn replied vaguely, eyes straining to read the pad. "He's putting in a class-5 hyperdrive casing on a class-6a engine?"

"They are interchangeable, as the class 6a was discontinued. Perhaps they weren't sure of the protocol of a disgraced Vice-Admiral that was still alive. So, no drug therapy or the standard interrogation techniques?"

"Apart from light starvation and de-hydration? No," Thrawn said, voice quiet.

Parck nodded, watching the Vice Admiral closely for several minutes as the Chiss squinted at the small screen. "And no electroshock therapy, either, even on the passive side?"

Thrawn's eyes stilled on the pad. "None, Captain," he said tonelessly.

Parck narrowed his eyes. "Really?" he asked.

Looking over the pad at Parck's lined face, Thrawn tilted his head. "You sound disappointed."

"That you would lie to me? Yes, I suppose I am."

There was a brittle silence as they locked gazes. The Chiss broke the exchange first. "From the moment I was unceremoniously tossed into that brig to the moment they called me out to see the Emperor, there was no harassment, interrogation, or roughing up as per normal prison or holding cell procedure. Other than a few glasses of water and one small meal at, I estimate, the mid-way point of my stay, there was no one in the cell with me."

As the Chiss reached out a hand to take one last draft from the glass in front of him, Parck lunged forward and grabbed the blue wrist with a firm grip. "Then tell me, _sir_, why it is that you are shaking like a baby bantha in its first windstorm," he said tightly, watching the blue hand shake and twitch, despite, he knew, Thrawn's attempt to still the shivering muscles. "That has all the classic symptoms of electrical shock."

The brittle silence returned with full force as the two of them locked gazes. For a moment, Voss was convinced that the Chiss would order the matter dropped and yank his hand away; the Chiss disliked physical contact of any kind. After a long moment, though, the Chiss's shoulders sagged. "I came in contact with an arch of live current in the throne room," Thrawn admitted softly, eyes closing to slits in his exhaustion. "It is possible that, coupled with the lack of sleep and sustenance, I am more exhausted than I realized. Uninterrupted sleep and a few decent meals will remedy the situation."

Parck released the wrist that he was holding out and abruptly stood up. "Fine. We'll see if the CMO agrees with you."

"I am not going to bother them for something that they will tell me the same as I already know," Thrawn began, but Voss cut him off.

"You are going down there, of your own volition," he said, leaning across the table to stare right into those glowing red eyes, voice steely, "or I will be forced to write you up as being unfit for duty and resisting medical assistance. Last I checked, that's a permanent mark on your record. It's your choice, Thrawn." He waited, eyes locked with the Vice-Admiral's.

The Captain won the staring contest. Stifling a sigh, Thrawn slowly stood up, letting the table support some of his weight as he did so. Only once, on the way to the turbolift, did he stop and lean one hand on the wall, eyes closed against a wave of dizziness. When he glanced at Voss after resuming his slower pace, there was a renewed look of fortitude and stubbornness about the human that made him very glad that Thrass had never had the chance to team up with this Captain against him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Thank you all for the wonderful feedback, reviews, questions and comments. Even those who only favorite'd and alerted this story, I really do get a little thrill each time I read one of the emails notifying me of these things. I will say that I tried very hard to keep Thrawn in character, and that Voss is a great deal easier to write this time through. I fully plan on playing with Voss and Thrawn again one day, but not quite yet. I almost hesitate to write more, as that new book is coming. *bounces* and the holidays are here and we have little in the way of time...

and a certain Time Lord is starting to knock on the plot bunny door...**  


* * *

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**Chapter 6: Medical Musings**

As lift doors opened, Parck could almost hear the next sentence before his friend uttered it. "No," he said firmly. "I'm seeing you right into the med droid's clutches."

Thrawn sighed softly and carefully walked out of the lift. Parck watched him carefully, but the Vice-Admiral seemed to have found his equilibrium. He appeared almost normal, strides albeit slower, as the large doors opened. The smell of sickbay was not nearly as strong in the officer's medbay as it was for the crew. Smaller, better ventilated, with an extremely fussy set of MOUS droids, there was less the feeling of a battlefield triage area and more the comfortable closeness of a planet-side clinic.

A 2-1B medical droid took one visual scan of the pair of them and pushed one of a series of intercom buttons. "This way, Vice-Admiral," it intoned, rolling toward a private room.

"Yes, you look that bad," Voss muttered as, with a tired eyebrow raised, the Chiss followed.

The droid was fussing with a rack of vials as Thrawn settled down on the edge of the patient bed. Leaning on the doorframe, Voss watched as the droid lined up seven vials for blood samples. "Uniform coat off, please, sir," it said, readying a needle.

Three vials had been filled before their chief medical officer arrived. Dr. Bellasmus strolled in, reading a datapad. Giving one nod to the draining Chiss, he speared Voss with his gaze. "You brought him in?" he asked, voice gruff.

"Yes, sir," Voss answered promptly, dipping his head.

"Good," Bellasmus grumbled. As he turned to the Chiss sitting on the bed, he passed the pad to Voss. "You are one sick officer, you know that?" he announced, shooing the droid out of the way and finishing the fourth vial himself.

"Nothing a decent night's sleep won't help."

"Oh, you need more than one's night's sleep, I'll guarantee that much." The fifth vial was full. Twisting around, he made eye contact with Parck. Pointedly, he looked at the pad Voss was holding, and then raised his eyebrows. Idly, Voss shifted the pad as the doctor went for the sixth vial so that he could see the display without being obvious about it. On the screen, one line had been typed:

_He'll need bacta, but he'll resist. Distract him when I'm at the last needle._

Moving forward, Voss picked up on the vague thread of conversation. "Oh, now, perhaps a few days more R&R at the palace would do," he quipped. "I'm sure your cell is still available."

"Hardly restful, Captain," Thrawn murmured, eyelids dropping for a moment. He straightened almost immediately, to the limit of the medical paraphernalia the doctor wielded. "I could return to my quarters while you run your plethora of tests."

"Where a pile of paperwork won't distract you? Not likely," Voss sniped. Bellasmus was finishing the last of the blood vials, and was rooting around for something. Carefully, Voss avoided looking that way. "And don't claim it's light reading, either."

"Most of those are routine reports," Thrawn objected.

Bellasmus emptied one syringe filled with clear liquid back into the IV line, began to fiddle with another one. "Just flushing the line," he murmured.

"But when there is anything that piques your interest, it won't stay 'light' reading. You'll have to track down the problem and soon enough you are back on the bridge."

"Speak from experience, do you?" the doctor asked, straightening up with a few of his own snaps and pops of bone on bone. He collected his work together on one tray, leaving the IV line in his patient, capped off. "I'm done for now. Don't go anywhere; I need to make sure we have enough for the lab. Make sure," he said to Voss on his way out, "that he stays put."

"Since when did Captain outrank Admiral?" Thrawn half asked, half groused, leaning back on outstretched arms.

"Since I am on your forms as next in line for decisions?" Voss answered, smirking. "Besides which, that cantankerous old man outranks us both the moment we walk in."

"Indeed," Thrawn murmured, eyes half closed.

"Finally feeling it, are we?" Voss asked softly.

"Feeling what?"

"Like you look; while sea-foam green is a very pretty colour, it's not so much on you. Would look nice on a little boat, go out fishing with when I'm on leave," he added as an aside.

Thrawn nodded, eyes still half closed. "_Pohskapforian_," he murmured.

Voss nodded slowly.

After a moment, however, the Vice Admiral focussed on Parck's face. "What was in those last two shots?" he asked, voice beginning to slur.

"I wouldn't know," Voss said truthfully. Knowledge and suspicion, after all, were very different things.

"What do you think was?" Despite the slur and the heavy eyelids that were only just staying open, there was a host of menace in his voice.

"Something to help your body relax and let you sleep while you soak," the doctor's voice sounded from behind them both. Walking fully into the room, he pierced Thrawn with a glare that rivalled any admiral's. "There is no point in fighting it. I gave you enough to knock you out for ten hours. You'll soak for eight, and we'll scan you then. If you still are having these micro-seizures, you will stay in for another full session."

The admiral was still fighting to stay awake, Parck noted uneasily. The Chiss was stubborn to the last. The doctor could see that as well.

"My medbay, Thrawn. I rule down here. Acquiesce, and this won't go on your permanent records. Don't, and you won't be able to hold a stylus when you turn fifty, of that I can guarantee you. This is serious, despite what you may want to believe. Your muscles are having spasms, micro-seizures to be precise, all over your body, and there are dangerous levels of calcium in your blood and muscles. There has been a massive and sudden calcification in your skeletal system, and it is sending you into shock. That double vision you've been having isn't from lack of sleep or a decent amount of sustenance. Neither is the muscle weakness or the blackouts. It's your body trying to cope with that electrical current the only way it can, Thrawn. Unless you soak now, these symptoms will become permanent and degenerative."

After staring at each other for moment more, it was clear who won the encounter. With a tired sigh, Thrawn leaned back on the pillows and swung, with help, his legs up onto the bed. "You will consult with me before you experiment with any other treatments, doctor," he murmured.

"Of course," Bellasmus soothed.

The admiral murmured something else, eyes finally closing. Watching him for a minute, Bellasmus nodded, turned, and motioned Parck outside of the room. He closed the door to the patient's room before turning to the Captain. "Damn admiralty," he grumbled.

"How long?"

Bellasmus sighed. "At least twelve hours in the tanks. That electrical current that is running through him is doing serious damage to his muscles, and is a bugger to get out. He'll need at least 36 hours to sleep, more likely 48 full hours before I let him out. You have until then to get this new fleet of his in order before he wakes up, causes a fuss, and gets out of my grip. Get it ready so all he has to do is walk out of here and crush this little problem."

"Then I should be leaving him in your capable hands and more capable sedatives," Voss said, smiling. With a bow, he turned sharply and headed out of the medical section. There was, indeed, quite a lot to be done, and little time to be doing it.

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_AN: Please read and review. All questions are answered if you leave me a contact email to respond you again, one and all. _

_Ladyravena, signing off.  
_


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